


Little League

by Toucandoit



Category: Markiplier Egos, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Baseball, I just really wanted to know why a bat of all weapons ok?, I wrote this instead of being responsible, Magic, Mark Fischbach Egos, One Shot, Sports, The Author is referred to as Arthur because I like that trend I'm seeing, discovery of magical abilities, my first try at really writing fanfiction let's go kiddos-, probably a one shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 19:29:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20971829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toucandoit/pseuds/Toucandoit
Summary: Arthur isn't very enthusiastic about sports, but inspiration can come from unexpected places.





	Little League

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this isn't the greatest, it hasn't been beta read, so if you see any mistakes please notify me (also if a tag should be added please tell me that too), but I'm proud of this brain thingy so- happy reading

Arthur wasn't particularly enthusiastic about playing sports. It was a lot of other people shouting, sweating, and running around to chase a ball and he never really got the point, just that dogs and dads seemed to go nuts for these sorts of things. He liked reading time at the school library and always took as many of the big books as he could fit in his arms (sometimes they made him put some back, because you weren't supposed to grab so many, but he was working on convincing the teachers to let him grab extras). But his father told him that these sorts of things "build character" and promptly signed him up for one of the local baseball teams, this one called the Little Eagles.

They didn't do so well in the first game.

It wasn't much better in the second.

The third was the last straw though.  
Arthur a veritable storm as he thundered, as much as a fifth grader could, up the stairs to his room. A distinctly baseball shaped bruise on his left arm. His hemoph- hemo-something- he couldn't remember at that second- thing made everything bruise so easily, and he was sure at this point that the kid had thrown it intentionally at him.

When he finally got to his room he threw himself into the bed, a frustrated growl leaving him. They hadn't even scored one point! And Dad had looked so disappointed… it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. And a few punches to his pillow revealed that this anger wasn't going away anytime soon.

There was moment once he got up of frustrated pacing accompanied by huffing and snarling and repeated growls of "it's not fair, it's not my fault, I hate baseball anyway, didn't even want to play, stupid, stupid, stUPID-!!" before he noted a sort of.. itch in his hands. And in the back of his head, oddly enough. For a moment that aggravated him even more, not wanting to deal with any more crap.

But then the mental itch turned into a suggestion.

And Arthur, oddly enough, felt the need to listen.

His footfalls were no less aggressive, but now he headed for his drawer. Popping open the top far left one, he retrieved a small notebook and a cheap mechanical pencil from inside. The suggestion, the inclination, became his intent, and the scritch-scritch of hastily scribbled sentences joined his angry breaths in his otherwise quiet room. He began to pace after a few short lines, mumbling out snippets of the written text. "Jason falls over after tripping over his untied shoelaces, scraping his knee and it hurts alot because there were pricker seeds on the ground like little angry porcupines-" two more laps around his room and "When Anthony throws the ball, it spins back around and hits him in the face!" joins the mix.

Amongst the ill wishes towards the other team, Arthur wrote of his own success. "I hit a home run", the notebook reads, "and Dad lifts me up on his shoulders because he's so excited and everyone's cheering. And I'm the King of Baseball." He ends it there, most of the energy out of his system.

He's tired now, his hand aches, probably from gripping the pencil too tight, and he just wants to sleep. He does feel a little better though. He slips under the baseball comforter and beneath the soft, owl-patterned throw blanket he kept underneath, and promptly fell into a dreamless sleep. Two days later, and the Bat Bears were in total disarray. Arthur watched as the team who had more or less wiped the floor with the Eagles, the team the coach had seemed to beg for a rematch for, saying that it had just been an off day for his kids, fall over each other in increasingly spectacular and hilarious ways. He laughed more than once when a few kids slipped on solid ground as though they'd stepped onto a banana peel.

Then he began to notice more specific happenstances. The boy with the jersey that read "10 Irving" in big letters slipped and got a nasty scrape, big skinned patch that quickly turned red, and when he was being walked out of the field you could hear him crying about pokeys in his leg. One kid, the one that had hit Arthur with the ball last time, went up to the pitcher's mound looking apprehensive. The familiarity of the moment however comforted him slightly, and he began to slip into the zone. Arthur watched, some faint hypothesis forming in his head, but he wouldn't, couldn't believe it. It wouldn't happen, nothing that cool happens to him, that was why he read so much. It was more interesting in there, there was more excitement there.

Anthony wound up his arm and slugged the ball right for the terrified Eagle.

Only, it went to the ground, and in a remarkable moment of physics and horrible luck, the ball collided with the ground, rebounded, and hit him straight in the eye.

The coach of the Bat Bears isn't a superstitious man, but you could hear him mumbling about passing on the curse to his team with the Eagle's coach. Arthur wasn't really paying attention to that though. He was staring at his hand in a sort of a shocked wonder, was this really happening?

He walked up to the mound in a daze, Anthony having been taken out for a moment to go get ice and a new kid had showed up. He'd struck out the Eagle at the mound, tried his best probably, his name was something like Eric or something, Arthur wasn't focusing much. He slipped into stance, adjusting his grip on the bat, and dragged his consciousness back into the present moment, and locked eyes with the pitcher. The itch was back, but it was less itch and more warmth. Any reservations or nerves he might have had began to melt away.

He was going to hit a home run.

New pitcher winds up, slightly differently than Anthony had, and throws the ball.

Arthur lets it slide by, too low, might as well have been rolling the ball to the umpire.

Again, the pitcher winds up, and launches the stitched ball towards home plate. It's too high though, and Arthur lets it whiz past him without breaking eye contact.

New kid is starting to look uncomfortable. He winds up for the final time, Arthur could feel it in his bones, and hurles the ball straight down the middle. Arthur swings with more force than he's ever cared to before, and the satisfying CRACK! of leather on metal was music to his ears. The ball went sailing past outfield and over the fence.

There was a hush that fell over the small crowd of parents and bored cousins, then a collective roar of cheers erupted from the Eagle's side. Arthur felt giddy, even if his hands stung and his right eye itched a little, probably from the pollen in the air. He dashed around the bases with glee, even if it was a formality at this point. He rushed back to the box where the players sat, excitedly shouting for his Dad. Arthur was greeted by a smile and a whisper of how proud he was of him. "Keep doing that and you'll be in the big leagues in no time kiddo!". It was nice, even if Arthur had no interest in making this a lifelong thing.

The rest of the game went on without a hitch… for the Eagles that is. They won with a landslide, their first victory of the season and boy was it sweet. Capri Suns were distributed and many high-fives were had amongst teammates. Arthur felt arms around him and was confused and startled for a brief moment before realizing he was being lifted up. By his dad. This was the best day ever.

That phrase kept ringing in his head the whole way home, getting louder when his dad stopped to get some drive through chicken, half the pieces fried and half baked. He chowed down happily on his surprise victory dinner, and when he finally retired to his room he felt incredibly warm and fuzzy. The itchiness in his eyes had gone away at that point, so nothing was there to bother him in his efforts to settle into bed.

Arthur snuggled down into the blankets, the familiar comfort nice no matter what the days events. His eyes slid shut as he drifted off to peaceful sleep, not knowing of how, in the night, his brown irises were being chipped with gold.

**Author's Note:**

> Never thought I'd actually write real fanfiction, let alone for the Author, but life is a river and I've yet to meet all the fish. Thanks for getting this far Reader.


End file.
